


The Rubaiyat of Obi-Wan Kenobi

by Rachael Sabotini (wickedwords)



Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Coming of Age, M/M, POV Alternating, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-12-12
Updated: 1999-12-12
Packaged: 2017-12-28 06:56:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedwords/pseuds/Rachael%20Sabotini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you to elynross and Rosa who beta'd this for me.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Poet Laureate

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to elynross and Rosa who beta'd this for me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a kind of poetry

_In balance, the Force guides us_  
Summer, winter, fall  
But in your arms,  
Eternal spring

Poetry has never been my strong point.

I dropped my legs off the desk, and my chair righted itself with a slight 'thud.' I wiped my palm over the reader, intent on erasing the passage, then decided to let it lay. A testament, perhaps, to a too-dramatic nature, one now harnessed to the practicalities of Jedi life.

I smiled, thinking about what my Master would say. I'd pulled out these old scribblings just to see if any of them were as good as I'd thought they were when I'd written them, years before, in the throes of my hormone-obsessed puberty. Dark dreary things, for the most part, full of the pain and anguish of teenage life and desperate, unrequited love.

I winced as I read them. It would be a kindness to delete them. Still, they were how I'd viewed the world at the time.

It was lucky I survived.

I pushed my chair away from the desk and slouched down, spreading my legs out wide in front of me. It was all Qui-Gon's fault, anyway. I'd written them late at night in the throes of passion and was now reading them six years later in the clear light of day. I looked over at the passage again and immediately hit the off switch on the reader, watching as the light faded, leaving my room in sleep cycle twilight. No one should have to read his old work like this. It was depressing.

But it was either this or '100 Poems Every Being Should Know'. I scratched at my bare chest and pushed my braid 'round to the back of my neck so it wouldn't get in the way. Most of 'em were just as bad as anything I'd ever written, long maudlin things about the nobility of the Jedi and the wonder of life. Somewhere, deep in his soul, I knew Qui-Gon had laughed at me when he handed out the course work; I'd seen it in the twinkle in his eyes at the time.

Poor Qui-Gon. I love him dearly, but my Master has no poetry in his soul. Sensitivity, yes, compassion, yes, but the two of us together? 'A black cat at night' was the extent of our creative endeavors.

It's lucky we became Jedi.

I ran my hand down my stomach to the waistband of my pants, enjoying the feel of my own touch. Unfortunately, my literature competency exams were scheduled for a few months from now, so there was no way either of us was getting out of it. Qui-Gon had looked so pained when he made the reading assignment, and each poem I turned in -- oh, they just made him pale. I don't know which of us hurt more.

Still, we would muddle through, just as we had folk songs and stories from other worlds. I wrapped my hands about my wrists and arched into a long stretch; I'd been cramped up in one position for far too long, and my body was saying it wanted a little more room...along with some other things.

I reached down and cupped my cock through my pants, changing its position. Now, if Qui-Gon has assigned '100 of the Greatest Poems about Sex', that was something that we both would have done better on. Sex was a subject I'd always interested in, even after I'd passed through my 'hormone-obsessed puberty' stage.

'Budding flower' my arse. I'd enjoyed sex from the moment I stuck my hand down Jarik's pants. I liked to think I'd found one of those innate talents the Masters talk about. Some Jedi could foresee the future, others fucked really well. I knew where my gifts lay, and it wasn't with reading anyone any poetry, not even '100 of the Greatest Poems about Sex.'

Now there was a thought. What if Qui-Gon read those poems aloud to me, made me memorize the stanzas and repeat them back to him? I felt my cock tighten at the thought, lengthening under my negligent land. Oh, yeah, that magnificent voice ringing out in the room, surrounding me with images of sweaty bodies interlocked in various positions, and my own voice following his, repeating every raunchy word.

Better yet, I thought, unfastening my pants and licking my palm so it dripped with spit, Qui-Gon naked in bed, reading the book aloud...gasping out a poem while I nipped at the flesh on the back of his neck...or the poem was torn out of him as I deep throated his cock...or maybe the words were muffled, with his face down, arse in the air, begging to be taken...

Unfortunately, even in my imagination, I couldn't get Qui-Gon to say some of the stuff he'd assigned me to read. "Obi-Wan, suck my cock." That I had no problem imagining him say, but "Obi-Wan, my love is like an ocean..."? I snorted. Never gonna happen.

Why couldn't poetry be composed of my favorite phrases, like "Come here," "strip," "kneel," and the all time winner: "fuck me now." I mean, in the right mood, those had a sort of lyricism in them, especially if they were being said by Qui-Gon Jinn.

I closed my eyes and sighed, pushing my pants off, giving up on the assignment and taking other, more urgent, matters in hand. I pulled on my balls and pinched my nipples, alternating quickly between them so the sensation spiked. When I tingled just on the edge, I switched, grabbing my cock in my hand and deliberately stroking it, imagining Qui-Gon spread out before me, his head thrown back as I sank balls-deep into him. I licked my hand again, making sure I was slick enough, and pumped myself faster, the wet sound adding to the reality of the moment, letting myself feel what it would be like to be in him, fucking him, dirty and raw and hard--

How he would clench the sheets and writhe beneath me, destroying me utterly with the small sounds he made when he came.

I threw back my head and gasped, my body locking as I felt the liquid surge out of my balls, up my shaft, and out onto my hand. I shuddered and shook in aftermath, feeling over sensitized even to my own touch.

When I felt okay enough to move, I got up, rolled my pants into a ball, and used that to wipe myself off, then threw it into the laundry bin. I couldn't help rubbing my hand across my chest, feeling the wetness left behind by the cloth, and I smiled. Someday, I planned to make that image a reality.

Great poetry takes time.


	2. Poet Laureate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast, not long after

The windowless room lit itself slowly, emulating dawn. Qui-Gon stirred as the light penetrated his awareness, turning and flopping onto his back, praying for just one hour of sleep.

His time-sense told him that he didn't have another hour; he needed to get up if he was to meet with Master Hui'ta this morning to confirm Obi-Wan's schedule for his competency exams. If they were lucky, Obi-Wan could take the literature exams before they were sent off-planet again.

And Qui-Gon really, _really_ wanted that one done.

He knocked on Obi-Wan's door as he passed it on his way to the shower; he'd knock on it again on his way back. Since he'd taken Obi-Wan for his Padawan, every morning on Coruscant began like this; Obi-Wan's own time-sense was still developing. Eurythmy classes helped stabilize it while they were at the temple, but every trip off-planet threw him off again and left Qui-Gon to pound on the door to wake him up.

He smiled as he heard Obi-Wan stir and a muffled voice call out, "I'm up. I'm up."

Qui-Gon shook his head. That's why he'd be knocking on Obi-Wan's door in another half-hour, and maybe even an hour after that. But such was the way of boys his age; they required almost as much sleep as a child. At least once Obi-Wan reached his full height the need for sleep would stabilize into a more adult pattern.

Which would hopefully be soon, he thought. Obi-Wan hadn't really started his final growth spurt until he turned seventeen, a long time after most of his human friends. At least now he was even with most of them, and taller than some, though he would never reach Qui-Gon's height.

Showered and refreshed, Qui-Gon pounded on Obi-Wan's door as he passed, then went to his own room to dress. He emerged to find his Padawan pulling on his tunic, and he padded into the kitchen area, put two blue-glazed bowls on the counter, and poured dried redberries and toasted sedras nuts into each. As Obi-Wan stood sleepily watching, Qui-Gon dug into the chilled storage for fresh fruit and milk.

In passing, Qui-Gon noticed that the sleeves on Obi-Wan's robes were a little short, and the cuffs somewhat frayed. He'd have to look into getting some new robes made for him soon. He picked up a box of rolled Speloui grain and the pitcher of milk, setting them on the table while Obi-Wan brought the bowls. At least it had been a while since that had happened. Maybe the boy had finally gotten his full growth.

Obi-Wan noticed the attention Qui-Gon gave his robes and blushed slightly as he pulled them down over his wrists. "Laundry day," he muttered as he sat down.

The tea water heated quickly, with a little help from the Force, and Qui-Gon set the pot on the table for them both, alongside the large Teskan waterfruit that sat waiting to be carved. Still yawning, Obi-Wan added grain, water, and milk to his bowl.

His robe pulled across his shoulders as he set the pot down, and Qui-Gon frowned. It was caught somewhere in the back. He'd have to take it off and re-layer the tunics so that his movement wouldn't be impaired. Standing, he untied his sash and straightened out the inner robes, momentarily startled by how chill the room felt against his bare skin.

As he tugged at his tunic, he felt an odd fluctuation in the Force and the sound of shattering glass. Startled, Qui-Gon looked over to see golden syrup dripping off Obi-Wan's nose and the remnants of the clay pot in Obi-Wan's hand.

"Ow." Obi-Wan, meanwhile, looked like he'd been kicked by a bantha. "That's not what I meant to do," he muttered aloud and set the rest of the shattered pot on the table.

Blood dripped down Obi-Wan's hand. Qui-Gon noticed it at the same time Obi-Wan did. "Don't move," he said as he stood to go get the first aid kit.

Obi-Wan grabbed for a napkin to wrap around his hand and knocked over the milk and his bowl, covering himself and his robes in what was to have been his breakfast. Stunned, he sat there a moment, completely flummoxed, his mouth agape.

Even though he knew Obi-Wan was embarrassed, Qui-Gon couldn't help it: he laughed.

Instantly, Obi-Wan shot him a look that clearly said, "Die, my Master. Roll over and just die."

Qui-Gon forced himself to shut up. "How is your hand? Do I need the kit?" he asked carefully.

"It's fine, thank you." Obi-Wan glared at him once more, then looked at the mess, his robes, and back to Qui-Gon, then back at the mess again, his mouth twitching into a smile, and finally he burst out laughing himself. "Oh, no." He wiped the honey off his face with the end of his sleeve. "That was my last set of clean robes, too. I'm sorry, Master."

Feeling sorry for Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon said, "I'll take them to the laundry and pick them up on my way back from the meeting with Master Hui'ta. You can work on your lessons until I come back."

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan spun and padded toward his room, calling over his shoulder. "Would you mind if I added a few things? I was going to go to the laundry today..."

Chuckling at his apprentice's behavior, Qui-Gon called back, "Add them on, if you wish. But I won't take everything for you. If it hasn't been laundered in a month, you get to take it in later."

In a few moments, Obi-Wan came out of his room shirtless, wearing a tight old pair of pants that were holed at one knee and stained from re-painting his room months ago. He smiled sheepishly at Qui-Gon. "It's all I had." The nearly overflowing basket he carried was filled with uniforms, sheets, and several towels, far more than Qui-Gon had thought he'd agreed to carry.

Qui-Gon shook his head and unfolded his arms to take the basket; Obi-Wan pushed the letter of the law as far as it would go. Rather like his Master, he thought ruefully. Their hands brushed as Qui-Gon took the basket, sending a shiver of energy up his spine. He jerked upright and stared at Obi-wan, their gazes momentarily locking.

In that instant, Qui-Gon noticed that he no longer had to look so far down. Not to child height anymore, or even teen. Obi-Wan's height was that of a man.

Disturbed, he looked down at the basket he carried and made another uncomfortable discovery: the sheets were stained with the remnants of sex.

How long had Obi-Wan been active, he wondered. How long had he himself been unaware of the transformation that had occurred? He had thought to shield and protect the boy, but now he wondered who he had really tried to protect.

The veil he'd worn was torn away from his eyes, and Qui-Gon was left with a total sexual awareness of the man before him and the hum of his own body in response.

"Master...?"

Covering his momentary lapse, Qui-Gon asked the first safe question that popped into his mind. "What was that surge in the Force before the pot broke?"

Obi-Wan shrugged. "I was trying to use the Force to lift it. I guess my concentration slipped."

"You didn't do this just to get me to do your laundry, did you?" Qui-Gon tried for the easy tone that they'd had earlier, but somehow he couldn't quite manage it. He glanced at Obi-Wan and quickly away, trying not to stare at his Padawan's nearly-naked body, speaking before he thought. "Because you were embarrassed taking them in, because of their, uhm, condition?"

"Oh, no, Master." Obi-Wan smiled slightly, his eyes wide, his tone earnest and sincere. "As you have said on numerous occasions, sex is a normal part of everyday life."

Qui-Gon felt himself blushing as Obi-Wan's smile grew bold, getting back at him for having laughed earlier. Was Obi-Wan flirting with him? Or was he reading more into this conversation than he should, because of his new-found awareness?

"I wouldn't go to the effort just for that," Obi-Wan said as he rubbed his fingers together as if noticing how sticky they were, then licked them slowly, sucking the honey off. "I'd want something better than clean clothes for smearing myself with honey."

Qui-Gon could not stop staring as each finger went into his Padawan's mouth to be sucked clean. Did Obi-Wan know what he was doing? Was this deliberate, or just his imagination? He almost groaned aloud.

Couldn't be. Obi-Wan had never flirted with him before. It was only the feeling that the world was off-kilter that made their normal banter seem so sexually charged. Once Qui-Gon had a chance to meditate and adjust, it would all fall into place. He just needed time.

Obi-Wan looked up at him curiously from under his lashes, freezing as he saw Qui-Gon staring at him, slowly pulling his fingers out of his mouth and wiping them on his pants. "Sorry, Master. They were sticky."

Qui-Gon swallowed, his mouth dry at the images that spun through his mind. Maybe a lot of time would be required. "Then maybe...you should bathe while I'm gone."

Again, the wrong thing to say. It conjured up images of Obi-Wan under the water, his hair damp, body glistening. He had to stop this, take control of the moment. As long as he had thought of Obi-Wan as almost a child, he had been able to keep himself from imagining such things, but right now, when he was so aware of Obi-Wan as a man...

He stepped back from the easy intimacy they'd shared this morning, putting them back on the proper Master-Padawan footing once again. "I think you had best do some concentration exercises in addition to your poetry lessons, so that this sort of accident won't happen again."

At his words, the light in Obi-Wan's eyes faded, and the teasing note left his voice. "Yes, Master. I understand." He bowed his acceptance, gracefully turned, and walked toward the shower.

Qui-Gon felt bereft, as if the sun had been covered by clouds. He was left standing alone in a room with a basket of dirty laundry and his chaotic thoughts.

His Obi-Wan had grown up.


	3. Wind and Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The poetry class complete, Obi-Wan wants to celebrate

The news flashed through the dining hall quicker than a saber could ignite. Every initiate, every Padawan in that room, gulped down the rest of the meal as one and headed out to the posting board to see the exam results.

With all my heart I focused myself on pulling strength from the Force. Please, I thought. Let me have passed.

As I said before, poetry has never been my strong point.

Qui-Gon and I were due to leave the temple soon. We'd rushed this exam, talking Master Hui'ta into letting me take it early so I wouldn't have to take it remotely. Considering that the rest of the classes were only a few weeks beyond where I was in my independent studies, Master Hui'ta had agreed and bundled me into the poetry and literature class, provided that I did extra work to catch up.

I have never seen Qui-Gon look so pleased. He was no longer responsible for that part of my lessons. I made him suffer, though, reading each poem aloud to him as it was composed.

I guess I have something of a sadistic streak in me. I'd never want to see anyone come to actual harm, particularly not Qui-Gon, but if he was going to give me extra meditation time for breaking a jar of honey I was going to force him to listen to my poetry, bad as it was.

Besides, it was his fault I'd broken the jar. How was I supposed to concentrate when he was standing right next to me and almost naked? I wanted to do him right then, I swear, and instead I got to do concentration meditations and poetry lessons. *ugh*

At least if I screwed up badly enough, he'd read the poem aloud for me, and that always added to my fantasy life. Some of those things I'd never imagined him being able to say -- like 'my love,' for example -- I now had a mental holograph of that I could just reverse and play.

For my fantasies, I still preferred 'suck my cock,' even though I had never heard him say that.

The crowd around the reader board was incredible. I couldn't see a thing through all the other bodies, so I decided to step back a bit and wait; the crowd would thin soon enough.

Bant was standing at the back and waved me over when she saw I wasn't going to try to shoulder my way through the crowd.

"We're going out tonight," she said loud enough to be heard over the rumbled mutterings of the group clustered around the reader board. "There's ten or so of us. Ask your Master if you can come."

"Sure." I grinned at her, stepping in close so neither of us would have to shout. "What's the plan?"

"Well, it's either celebration, or drowning your sorrows time, depending on marks." She looked at the reader board and squinted as if trying to read what was displayed. "Looks like Celat will be coming. She's finally passed linear math."

Celat? My ears pricked up at the thought. She was D'aman, a bi-pedal humanoid, dark brown eyes, soft lips, and from what I could see, a curvaceous body covered in short, reddish-gold fur.

I wanted to know if that fur covered her everywhere.

Bant whapped me lightly on the arm.

"Hey!" I jerked back from her. "What was that for?"

"I know you, Obi-Wan Kenobi." She smirked -- well, it would have been a smirk if she'd been human. "You were thinking how far that fur went."

"Have you picked up mind-reading lately?"

"No, but you have a one track mind. I wonder how your Master manages to get you to do your lessons at all."

"We do all right." Her words stung. I wasn't that obvious, was I? I thought about other things than sex...sometimes.

She poked me in the ribs. "Good thing he's so focused, that's all I can say. My Master would never let me get away with what your Master does."

I poked her in the ribs. "Well, if my Master is too focused, your Master is too sympathetic. He spends all his time listening to other people problems."

She blinked. "Are you saying he's a gossip?"

"Are you saying that my Master is oblivious?" I countered.

She shrugged. "Maybe a little."

"Well, there you have it." I folded my arms. "Your Master is a little bit of a gossip."

"Oh, yeah?" She poked me again.

"Yeah." I poked her back.

Poke and counter-poke; she cracked first, the skin around her nose-slits wrinkling in pleasure as her eyes sparkled with amusement. "Come on," she said, gesturing at the reader board, "the crowd's gone."

We found a space up front, and each of us looked up course work and title. Bant found her course rankings quickly -- top third in each of her classes. A new group surged around us just as she found her last one and pushed her aside in their haste to get to the board; she gestured that she would meet me at the back when I was done.

The poetry and literature class was larger than most; I found my name about halfway down. Not distinguished, but not failing.

Good enough.

I felt the crowd around me parting, and then a firm hand was laid on my shoulder. "Well done, Padawan."

I turned around and met my Master's eyes, a small smile gracing his lips. "This calls for a celebration. Why don't I take you out to dinner?" He held up his hand to forestall my comments. "Don't worry, any place of your choosing. I won't subject you to my tastes tonight."

I glanced over at Bant, who was giving me the 'ask him' signal. "Uhm, Master...." for some reason, my chest felt tight, and my throat was dry. Qui-Gon never offered such things, yet...Celat. How could I... "Bant asked...I mean, that is, a group of us...."

The light in his eyes died, and he stepped back putting his hands in his sleeves again. "Your friends. Of course, I should have thought." He straightened again and looked over to where Bant was standing. "If she is your partner, Obi-Wan, I would appreciate knowing that."

My jaw dropped. "Bant?" I looked back to where she was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, waiting to hear whether I could go with them tonight or not. Pale-skinned and gangly, her silver eyes wide with excitement, Bant wasn't quite what I wanted in a partner. I liked women with curves and men with planes, and Bant had neither. She was more than a brief flirtation to me; she was my best friend. "She's like a sister to me, Master, that's all. A younger sibling. Not my partner." I shifted uncomfortably. "I don't have one at the moment, Master. I'd tell you if I did."

His voice was distant when he responded, a teacher's voice, not the one that had asked me to dinner. "It's important that I know these things, Obi-Wan. I wish to treat your partners with respect, and I'm afraid...I might not be as aware as I could be of what your relationships are."

Something about the way he said that shook me. What could he be--?

Oh.

The sheets. I could feel myself blushing and could not look at him. I'd had lovers, yes, but I had none at the moment. They weren't really what I'd call partners, anyway; more just friends with whom I happened to fool around. Most of the time, it didn't last beyond the first couple of weeks; I wasn't looking for more than a bit of fun, and all of my...lovers...understood that. I'm sure my Master would, as well.

It wasn't the sex that made me uncomfortable...okay, maybe it was, just a bit. Something in Qui-Gon's attitude had changed, and I wasn't sure how to deal with that. He seemed to be distancing himself from me, and I wasn't sure what that meant. Maybe he was just trying to give me my privacy. I don't know.

I knew that I fantasized about him so often, and it seemed...disrespectful, I guess. He was my Master. He had no business being part of my sex life.

Yet he was. Whether he knew it, or not.

I really didn't want to think about that.

"Don't stay out too late," Qui-Gon said, his voice more informative than prohibitive. "There's a rumbling from the Chancellor's office about trade disputes near the Galma territories, and we are due for the next rotation. We may leave as early as tomorrow."

"Yes, Master." I nodded my head in agreement. "I will be ready."

"I know you will, Obi-Wan." His eyes shown briefly, his gaze meeting mine, and then he turned and nodded his head toward Bant. "You had best go meet your friends."

He turned and left the area, his head and a part of his robe sticking out above the crowd swirling around him like a river around a rock.

It was funny, but even as Bant teased me about Celat, I couldn't shake the image of how isolated he'd looked. Somehow, thinking about Qui-Gon, I found I wasn't that interested in Celat anymore. I had been treating him the same way I treated her in my mind, as an object of fantasy and not a lot more.

I grinned at Bant as she poked me again. I had a lot more fun with her than I had with my sexual partners, that was for sure. I frowned suddenly as I realized something, erasing the look before Bant caught it and asked me what was up.

I had just figured out I wanted....to make my Master into my friend.

\--The End --  



	4. Ruby on the Vine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qui-Gon comtemplates the changes in his life

The noise of the central room faded as Qui-Gon walked, head bowed, back to his temple apartment. Every now and again he could hear a shout from one of the younger Padawans, those who had not yet learned to take life as seriously as a Jedi should.

Eventually, they would grow up. Just as Obi-Wan had.

The sound of running feet and laughter echoed through the halls for a moment, surrounding him; then the rambunctious Padawan skidded to a halt as he realized a Master was observing him. Sedate footsteps passed him; Qui-Gon nodded, but didn't look up. He felt alone and isolated, even in the midst of all the force-blessed joy of finals and a short respite in classes, separated not just by his all-concealing robe, but by an inner coldness.

He pulled his hands in tighter to his chest, sinking deeper into his cloak as he walked, the path memorized from his years in the temple. He passed corridors he'd not traveled in years, paths that he'd eagerly explored in his youth. The Padawan had vanished down one of these, though Qui-Gon couldn't have said which one; he wondered what pleasure had drawn the child on so heedlessly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd chased after something so passionately.

He glanced down the halls as he walked slowly past. Some of the entryways were dark, in night cycle for the beings who lived there; some had environmental locks on them, in case strangers should wander in; some were open and inviting and filled with people. Memories slipped through his mind, of midnight feasts stealthily retrieved from the kitchens, gatherings of apprentices to bemoan the demands of their masters, stolen moments with this young lover or that.

Every now and again, he caught a glimpse of his old behavior reflected in someone new. And not just Padawans, either, nor Initiates, but Knights and Masters and teachers and the workers than made the temple hum.

But Qui-Gon held himself apart. He had no reason to join in, save the weight of loneliness that sat on his shoulders tonight, and that would make him poor company at the moment; best to keep passing each opportunity by.

Still, the corridors called to him. He stopped at the next branching corridor and looked down it; anything might be found if one took a different path. He stood silently for long moments, trying to get a sense of what the Force might be telling him, to little avail. There was no rhythm or reason in this longing that he could discern; best to stay focused and keep to his chosen path. Turning away, he made sure his hood obscured the sight of the beckoning corridors, tucked his hands back into their sleeves, and head down, he walked back to his apartment.

One day soon, Obi-Wan would live down one of those corridors. Already he was out most evenings they were in residence. It would not be long before he requested a place of his own, a place of privacy. It was only natural and right that he should want that; it was part of the cycle of independence. He'd left the crèche and its family to live with a Master, separating from them at the point he'd needed to define himself as an individual, rather than remaining part of a group. The time was coming when he would no longer need his mentor, either, though his apprenticeship still had several years to run.

For Qui-Gon, it would be too soon.

And then there would be knighthood and the final severing of the bond. Obi-Wan could certainly stand on his own, but tonight, Qui-Gon wasn't sure that he himself could do as well.

He pressed a hand to the door of his apartment and waited for it to recognize him and open. He'd left the lights on low earlier; the half-light suited his mood. How would it be, he wondered, to live on his own again?

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of his cup sitting abandoned on the table; he must have left it there when he'd learned that the marks were in, left it to go and see how well Obi-Wan had done. The cup had been a favorite of his for several years now, hand-painted with the ruby on the vine design, a small splash of red amongst the green. The colors were faded now, indistinct, the detail gone. He walked over and picked it up, staring at it like it could give him insight on his life.

Well-used and loved, but chipped and ready to crack. As useful as it had been, it was time to throw it away.

He set the cup down, took off his outer robe and laid it over the back of the couch, then sat down and picked up the cup again, turning it over in his hands, using it as a meditative focus point and letting his mind drift.

Snips and images came to him, words and phrases rolling around in his mind. Stumbling, tumbling, careening around in his mind, bouncing off one another to serve no useful purpose--

But always, eventually, returning to Obi-Wan.

The cup in his hand became a book, and he was remembering reading some of Obi-Wan's poetry lessons aloud. What a gift it had been to be able to say those words to his Padawan, shielded and disguised by the propriety of instruction.

With the class over, that small joy had been taken from him. That must be what he truly mourned.

It was only understandable that Obi-wan would rather spend time with his young friends....

The cup crashed to the ground, shattering, and Qui-Gon grimaced. He carefully picked up the shards and poured them into the recycling unit, then closed the door and listened while the clay skittered off to the central repository.

He glanced at the time, startled to see that it had grown so late; he must have missed the passage of time while he'd been meditating. He swung back to the common room and picked up his robe, intent on carrying it back to his bedroom and putting it away. He stopped in mid-movement, though, and decided to leave the robe for now. He felt more settled, more focused than when he'd first entered the apartment. He wanted to retrieve the stillness he'd felt while looking at the cup, turning himself to embrace the changes in life and the natural rhythm, rather than fighting them. Accepting within himself Obi-Wan's need to move on.

In the stillness of the apartment, with only his own thoughts for company, the sound of the door opening seemed as loud as an engine blast. Obi-Wan was home.

Frowning, Qui-Gon checked the time again. Yes, it was later than he'd realized, but far too early for Obi-Wan. Unless, perhaps, something happened? No, he would have sensed that through the bond.

"Master."

"You're early. I didn't expect you for quite some time."

Obi-Wan shrugged and slid onto the arm of the couch, brushing his braid casually back behind him. "Same old stories, same old restaurant. Nothing really new."

"And this is new?" Qui-Gon looked around the common room. "I could have sworn you put that scrape in the wall with your light saber at least three years ago."

Obi-Wan smiled at him. "Well, that's different, isn't it? I was expecting excitement when I went out. I don't expect anything exciting here."

Oh, that hurt, but it was truthful. Their missions and council meetings were as much excitement as Qui-Gon wanted in his life. He balanced those by trying to keep his life at the temple quiet, to rest for the time when his energy would be needed elsewhere. He smiled ruefully in agreement. "Fortunately. I'm not sure I'd like our rooms to be a hotbed of activity. I need some time to rest at my age."

"You're not so old. A third of the Masters are older than you, even those who don't come from long-lived species." Obi-Wan finished taking off his boots and set them down next to the front door. "Stop pretending you're going to collapse any minute."

"Obi-Wan--"

"Oh, come on. I've seen you do a lot of stuff on missions. You stay at home and read because you like it, not because you're tired."

Qui-Gon smiled. "Yes, I do like to read."

"So read." Obi-Wan sprawled out next to him and threw his feet onto Qui-Gon's lap. "To me."

"Padawan!"

"Master." He grinned. "I find that I like it when you read, too. Aloud."

Qui-Gon flushed, a mixture of pleasure and confusion heating his skin before he brought his feelings back under control. He'd considered reading aloud to Obi-Wan his guilty pleasure, something his Padawan took no real interest in. But now, here he was, lying on the couch, taking up more room than a king, commanding Qui-Gon to read to him.

And it wasn't such a bad thought.

Qui-Gon adjusted Obi-Wan's feet so that they rested comfortably in his lap and picked up his datapad. "I warn you, the material is tedious."

"Couldn't it be worse than 'Poems Every Being Should Know,' could it?"

Qui-Gon shuddered slightly. "No."

"Well then...." Obi-Wan poked Qui-Gon with his toe. "Start reading."

A incredible sense of recklessness filled him as he looked down at the reader. He felt like a Padawan again, running heedlessly through an empty, unknown corridor with no Master there to watch. With a laugh at himself and his place in the universe, his deep voice filled with passion and joy, Qui-Gon did what was commanded. He began to read.


	5. Shapes of Clay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If it is not forbidden, is it allowed?

I leaned back against the couch, turning slightly so that my book was in better light. Obi-Wan wiggled his way further down the cushions, his head resting on the rolled pillow at the end, his feet in my lap. We were comfortable here, he and I, held in a bubble of contentment that almost glowed, the reach of it defined by the resonance of my voice.

Evenings like this were magical. Anything seemed possible -- particularly with Obi-Wan beside me. 

When I was a child in the crèche, we were encouraged to believe in magic. Toys were made of wood and stone, glass, metal, paper, everything from deep within the living Force. And each toy was magic, the only limitation our imaginations. There were no faces on the dolls, so that they could be anything. A chair was a spaceship was a tree was a throne; everything contained more potential than could be seen. 

Just as it is with the Force. 

We learned to see what was important, and to change the rules if we had reason to. For example, one of the games I loved had small wooden sticks, taken from trees on various planets, and we'd use them to build a tower. The child that knocked over the tower lost, and the sticks bounced and rolled across the table onto the floor, accompanied by squeals of delight.

I was the one who usually knocked the sticks apart. I was all elbows and knees, and it took me years to develop a true kinesthetic sense of my body in place and time. It would have been disheartening, except that sometimes we played by different rules, and I had a chance to win. But even so, I empathized when I heard that Obi-Wan had been called 'Oafy-Wan' when he was younger; I think I broke more glassware than any initiate in the temple's history. 

Tonight I felt like the rules had been changed, and I finally had a chance to win. Everything around me seemed in such disarray, the old order destroyed; yet I wanted to laugh, feeling the new order coalesce in the Force around me. From the looks I was getting, I think my emotions confused poor Obi-Wan. His Master tends to be a sober man.

Yet here I was -- without drink, without drug, without any added enhancement -- far from sober.

Obi-Wan levered himself up a bit to look at me, his feet still lying in my lap. "Master?"

His eyes were wide, whether with shock or amazement, I couldn't tell, but it amused me. I might have held on to the image of him as a boy for far too long, but I could see that he'd taken the same tack with me. Somber and controlled as I am, I wondered if he had ever thought about what I'd been like when I was young.

I know I've thought about what he will look like when he grows old. How his face will change, and his skin line itself with worry and love. I bet his eyes will never lose the hint of mischief they always hold.

I imagine it in detail at times, because I know it is something I will never see. 

But such thoughts were too maudlin for a night like this. I set the reader beside me, then picked up one of his feet in my hands and rubbed it. This time, I could tell he was shocked. This level of intimate comfort we'd left behind us with his early adolescence. But I didn't want to stop; I laughed, and then something within Obi-Wan changed. He looked puzzled, but not unhappy. Confused, yet accepting. Eager, maybe.

Perhaps he was seeing me at last. The thought was both wonderful and frightening, and I froze.

He prodded my hand with his toes again. "I was enjoying that."

Our eyes locked, and I was the one that had to turn away, the humor I'd felt replaced with slow burning heat. I picked up his neglected foot and began rubbing it, acutely aware of the feel of his skin against my hands. Which of us, I wondered, had really startled the other?

"Master, are you all right?"

I looked over at him, but my eyes could not linger for long. He'd sprawled back against the cushion in a way that spoke to me more of sexuality than companionship; I breathed deeply and centered myself, pushing those thoughts aside. I had managed to contain that side of my desire for months now, since I had grown aware of him as a man. There was no need to give into the need at this moment, not when everything felt so magical. This brief flare of want would pass as quickly as it had begun.

"I am fine," I said, taking comfort in my own words. I gently brushed my hands across Obi-Wan's foot, feeling the soft skin on top and the hardened skin ridge at the beginning of the sole. The skin at the heel was dry; it probably needed some cream, but I would have to get up for that. "I was thinking about your knighting ceremony, when I will kneel before you to wash your feet." My hands wandered up the inside of his foot, and I stroked the pads of my thumbs across the arch and heard Obi-Wan's sharp gasp as I felt the knot there relax. I wasn't sure what I was saying anymore, my attention on the feel of Obi-Wan's feet in my hands and on the sounds of pleasure he made; I felt my mood fading as I rambled, the need to touch him even more intimately still strong. 

I had to stop. I could feel my own desire building, and I was glad I had not gotten the cream; it would make this more tempting than it already was. I could see him out of the corner of my eye as my hands kneaded his flesh, the way he arched back when I touched a sensitive nerve, the way he sighed when the knots gave way. I wanted him too much. 

I set his feet back in my lap, stilling my hands. "I hope that they will be in better shape then than they are now." I could not risk even that small touch, not now. He would have to understand. 

He curled himself up and around so he could inspect his own feet. "I will remember to cut the nails before then," he said solemnly, "and get rid of the calluses. I would not want the other Masters to think poorly of your training." He grinned then, teasing me, his tone intimate, even flirtatious. 

My mouth ran dry.

The reader lay next to me, and I hastily picked it up, finding where I'd left off. Even though my giddiness faded, it was still good to sit next to him like this, to be reading aloud once again. I let myself project that emotion, let him feel it. "I am content."

Content was a good word for it, a Jedi word, full of understatement, commitment, and depth. Not satisfied, no; the need within me might never be satisfied. But this...companionship fulfilled most of my moods.

And when he left me, the memories of this would remain. The thought warmed my sudden chill. He would be a great Jedi. He would have a good life.

"Shall I brew some tea?" Obi-Wan's voice held a tone I couldn't remember hearing before, as if more than tea were offered. He stretched and stood, looking down at me, a fascinating change from our normal positions. If anything, his grin got worse, as if he understood some momentous joke.

Such foolishness. "Tea would be good right now. There's fresh green if you prefer."

"Back in a moment." He nodded, and I watched him walk into the kitchen. 

If anything, the magic seemed stronger now, the hairs on the back of my arms tingling attentively. For long minutes I tried to center, to focus on the Force, but it escaped me. No matter how I tried, I couldn't read what was happening; I had to let it go. I was too scattered to--

"It's steeping, Master." Obi-Wan came in again, interrupting my thoughts. He'd also removed his robe at some point and was now bare-chested as well as barefoot. His braid lay against his skin, swinging slightly as he walked. His chest was a little red, and Obi-Wan noticed my gaze. His hand came up to rub at the red spot on his rib just under his nipple. "I spilled some of the water when I was pouring. It's nothing, but I decided I didn't want to wear a wet tunic."

He lay back down on the couch, his head on the pillow, feet on my lap, but the shy boy I'd seen earlier had gotten lost somewhere in the kitchen. The young man I watched now had nothing of the boy about him, all lean muscles and lazy sensuality, wearing a focused, predatory air.

I brought the reader up close to my face, turning away from the sight. He wasn't mine to have. He had a quick wit, a ready smile, and an easy-going nature, all wrapped in an elegant form, but those were gifts he'd give another. He owed me dedication, loyalty, a willingness to listen to my words and heed them as he made his own path, while I...I needed to do some meditation tonight.

Hands pulled the reader away from my face, and Obi-Wan slid down onto my lap. I swallowed hard as he looked at me, measuring me for what, I did not know. He simply laid his hand on my chest. "Kiss me."

I could not move, my mind and body frozen at his words, so Obi-Wan moved, instead. He leaned in, sliding his hands up and around me, his lips brushing softly on mine. "Live in the moment."

It was the wrong thing to say. A dozen doubts assailed me, and I couldn't think through the fury of their chatter. Obi-Wan's hands felt so good; I pressed into them, then pulled back. "Be mindful of the future." I held his wrists and stared into his eyes. "Would you mortgage your future for this?"

"I mortgage nothing, my Master. I remain your Padawan."

There was no guile in him, no deceitfulness, no...intent...other than what he suggested. I released his hands and reached out to stroke his cheek; he pressed a kiss into the palm of my hand. He offered friendship, companionship, and shared joy for the night. It was a better offer than I'd had in years.

But oh, how I wished that I'd seen love.

The magic faded as we sat there, each of us listening to the harmony of the Force, trying to read what it said; the only answer was silence. The humor in Obi-Wan's eyes faded, and he pulled away, gathering into himself

I let him, still confused at my own response.

"So the answer is no?" he asked carefully.

"I...." I swallowed and looked at him as he slid off my lap and stood. "I need time, Obi-Wan. I need to think."

"Yes, that is the Jedi way, isn't it?" He lifted his chin and looked at me, his arms folded protectively across his chest. "Take your time, Master. I will be here."

He bowed, leaving the common area for his own room. I barely heard the door close behind him as I listened to my own thoughts. Too much confusion, I finally decided. I needed to take a walk.

The problem was a simple one, and one that had plagued Jedi philosophers for centuries. If something is not forbidden, but it is not encouraged, is it still allowed?

Obi-Wan wanted me. That should have been enough, a secret matching my own desire for him. But it was not.

My footsteps echoed in the hallways of the temple, and I realized I was on my way to the western meditation gardens. I frowned as I stopped, gazing down the hall. I always went to the western gardens; they were the closest to my rooms. I knew every nook, plant, and rock in them as if I had placed them there myself.

I turned around and headed down a different corridor, one I traveled infrequently. I think I had not been down this corridor in quite a while, as I noticed that some remodeling had been done. Six months, I was sure, though it might have been more. A new entrance had been added to one of the inner apartments, a rounded door, wide enough for a Hutt and tall enough for a Wookie. 

"Ah, Master Qui-Gon!" Footsteps behind me, and I turned to see who it was. Master Tallic grinned and waved at me, dropping to all fours to quicken his pace. I could not help but smile; Jedi robes had not been constructed with quadrupeds in mind. Fortunately, Master Tallic's robes had been modified so that he could easily walk on all fours when he wanted -- or swing by his tail, for that matter. His people lived in the rainforest canopy for most of their lives.

He stood up when he got nearer and smoothed the sparse covering of bright orange hair that framed most of his face. He glanced at the door and back to me. "It's a maintenance storeroom. When Master J'anir died, no one wanted his rooms."

Ah, how could I have forgotten? J'anir had been an institution in the temple. He'd lost both an arm and his sight while on a mission right after his knighting; he'd stayed in the temple after that, specializing in strategy and tactics. I'd been so caught up in my own thoughts that I hadn't even noticed that J'anir's sadness still clung to these rooms, even though he had joined with the Force. No wonder no one had wanted them.

I turned back to Master Tallic, who was looking at me questioningly. "Yes?"

"I never see you in these corridors, Qui-Gon. Is Obi-Wan on a solo mission?"

"Not that I know of. He still has much to learn before I would feel comfortable releasing him for solo duty."

"Humph." Tallic's cheeks puffed up with air, and he puffed his exasperation. "I am not asking if he was knighted."

I was tired, and I wanted to be alone with my thoughts. "Then what are you asking?"

"No cares. I was just assigned a courier mission that I would prefer to pass along to another. " He patted the pouch that he carried with his tail. "And I just wondered if perhaps Obi-Wan was available to run such errands yet." 

I think I must have looked astonished, and Tallic's words spilled out faster and faster as I listened. "I know it's a little soon, but he seems more than capable. And I've heard that you've split up on missions, leaving him to deal with the routine while you delve into something in more detail. So I thought that if he was around...." His voice drifted off, and his face contorted into a smile, which showed off too many teeth for my tastes. "I was headed in that direction anyway, and it will only add three days to my schedule. I'm sorry to have disturbed you, Qui-Gon."

"You didn't disturb me, Tallic. I was simply lost in other thoughts."

"Ah, in that case," he clapped his long-fingered hand on my arm, "live in the moment, Master."

Obi-Wan's words from Tallic's body. The Force was mocking me.

I shook my head as he scampered away. There was just something about Tallic; he always seemed to push the edges of propriety. It wasn't unknown for a Master to ask an older Padawan to take on a low-risk assignment, thus freeing the Master to work on other matters, but it was something usually left to the Council's discretion. 

Or to that of the his Master.

It was true, though. Obi-Wan had already acted in my stead on a few occasions; in another year or two, he would begin taking on low level missions for the Council. And a few years after that, he would be knighted and on his own. He was already far more mature than most young men his age.

Many things could happen on those missions. It was not unheard of for someone as simple as a document courier to find himself in the midst of a war. Usually the Council screened well enough that those incidents were few and far between, but it did happen.

I glanced back at the new door and shuddered. Obi-Wan could end up like Master J'anir, an old man who had always seemed to mourn what might have been. Would being with me be something Obi-Wan mourned? Or would it be something he could warm himself with, alone on a bitter night?

Others already saw the Jedi Obi-Wan would become in a few years time, and they were already expecting him to take on the missions of an older Padawan. Perhaps I was the one being hasty, assuming that I knew Obi-Wan's mind.

Perhaps it wasn't what I thought it was at all. 

I considered and thought, staring at the door to what used to be J'anir's flat, and finally came to the conclusion that I would mourn not being Obi-Wan's lover.

To that, the Force responded, 'Yes.'

Live in the moment, indeed. I turned and walked back to our apartment, my pace much brisker than before.

He was waiting for me when I arrived. I was barely inside the door before he came out of his room and met me in the hall. This time he was fully clothed, but still barefoot.

"Master, I am sorry for my behavior earlier. It was forward and impolite." He bowed formally, keeping his distance from me, the very picture of a perfectly contrite Padawan.

"Obi-Wan...." I had no idea where to begin, but I knew I didn't want a perfectly contrite Padawan at the moment. Something akin to what he'd been wearing -- or not wearing -- earlier was more on my mind. And to that end, I needed to make him feel comfortable. I removed my outer robe and hung it up in the hall. "There is no need to apologize. You were honest. I took no offense."

"No?" The anxiety I'd seen when I'd entered melted out of him, his relief evident in his more relaxed stance, but still too formal for my tastes. Obi-Wan watched as I carefully took off my boots and set them next to his. "Then what happened?"

"I decided you were right. It is time to live in the moment."

Amusement sparkled in his eyes; Obi-Wan was grinning now. "And which moment would that be? The moment before or after the kiss?"

"The moment before." I tilted my head and looked down at him, letting him see the desire I kept veiled within me. 

He shivered, staring at me, as if he had discovered a need of his own.

Feral, his hunger written in the lines of his body, Obi-Wan stalked me. His lean grace tore into my body, rending it, leaving me open and bleeding, dying from a painful, unsatisfied thirst. I leaned back against the wall to hide my inadvertent trembling and waited, letting him take control. He threaded his hands into my hair and wrapped his fingers around the back of my neck, pulling me down against his lips.

"Kiss me," he said again, his lips brushing mine as he softly spoke.

I didn't think to resist.

Our lips met and parted, and I flicked my tongue across Obi-Wan's mouth; he did the same to mine, mirroring my movements. I exhaled slowly, Obi-Wan breathing in, setting up a rhythm between us. Languid and lazy, we fed each other kisses, exploring each other in lush detail. Heady, like strong wine, I could feel the passion building within me, could feel it as Obi-Wan grew aroused.

There was nothing unusual in the way he smelled, his hair neither thicker nor finer than anyone else's. His body felt firm and strong in my arms, but not so defined that it drew notice. In all things, he seemed ordinary.

Yet he was not. I was consumed by an abnormal hunger for him, a limitless passion that almost pulsed with Force life. I could not stop devouring him, my hands clutching his body, molding it to mine, as if I could force him closer. He was panting now, his breath harsh in my ear, the press of his groin against my thigh proof of his desire. I nipped at his earlobe and the base of his neck; he thrust hard against me, as if he could find a foothold somehow and climb me, reaching for some nexus that centered at my groin.

Through it all, Obi-Wan whispered to me, words not appropriate to our normal conversation. I had dreamed of him saying those things, and each word he spoke was like a gust of air against a flame, making my desire flicker and re-kindle itself to a brighter heat. 

My neck reminded me that I'd been curved in one position for far too long, my back braced against the wall, Obi-Wan pressed hard against me. I pressed back, levering myself away from my position, and realized how unsteady I felt on my feet. 

Obi-Wan looked dazed, as if his brain had not yet processed that I'd moved. His lips were swollen with kisses, and at the dip of his throat I could see a small mark just beginning to bruise. "Come here," I said, sliding my hand into his. "The couch is close and not so hard."

His grip was strong, and his voice wicked with desire. "I like it hard." He tugged me to him, leading me to the couch, his words an almost incomprehensible language to me. "I like it hard and fast, and I like it slow." 

Dazed by the hunger in his words, I hit the edge of the couch as I passed, and the sting broke though the fog in my mind. Obi-Wan's words were clear now, his tone low and demanding as his hands worked the fastening of my sash. 

"I like it wet, too, slick from your mouth -- or whatever's at hand." 

Released, the cloth fell to the floor as I gripped Obi-Wan's shoulder and kissed him, not the soft, decadent kisses of the entryway, but hard kisses, demanding response. 

I think I surprised him, as if he had not expected me to move. I heard him groan and sigh, his hands sliding up my shirt, stroking bare skin, teasing me, as his words stroked my need. "I want to feel you, I want to eat you." He paused as he got the tunic off and his gaze met mine, locking together with the power of a light saber. "I want to do you."

Fire ignited through me at the thought, the image of Obi-Wan thrusting into me searing the synapses of my nerves, branding me with desire. No less powerful was a whipcord reaction to that thought, the image of Obi-Wan beneath me, moaning as I thrust into him.

I had no time for pleasantries anymore. "Strip," I demanded, nearly growling the word in my lust.

Obi-Wan's eyes grew wide and dark as he hastily unfastened his sash and tugged his own shirt off.

I stepped forward and cupped my hand under his chin, tilting it up. "You wanted it hard, Obi-Wan?"

"Yes, Master." He swallowed once, his eyes never leaving mine.

"And wet."

"Yes."

"Then I want you to make sure it's very, very wet." I kissed him and rubbed my thumb across his slightly parted lips. "Kneel."

I don't think he'd ever been that obedient in his life. I laughed, startled at the sound in the room.

Obi-Wan looked up at me, a wicked light in his eyes. "Taking advantage of me?" He reached out and tugged on the fastenings of my leggings, ignoring them utterly after the cloth slid to the floor, my erection revealed. "Fine by me, " he whispered, reaching up to pull me in tight, taking my cock down his throat.

I threw my head back and groaned, my fingers reflexively grabbing onto his head, and Obi-Wan eagerly swallowed me, his mouth sliding over my shaft, his tongue dancing across the underside and swirling around the tip. He played with me as if I were some cherished toy he'd re-discovered, guttural sounds of pleasure issuing from behind his closed lips.

I glanced down at his face once while I fucked his mouth and saw how intent he was, his eyes half-slitted with delight. 

Force, I'm not sure who was enjoying it more at that moment, Obi-Wan or myself. I moaned and thrust, and Obi-Wan let me, relaxing into it as I stroked into him. I was vaguely aware of his hands fumbling with the fastening to his own leggings, freeing his own cock so he could stroke it.

As his movements grew more obvious, I realized this wasn't quite how I wanted it, and I forced myself to slow down and pull back. Obi-Wan looked dazed, his mouth swollen and red; I leaned over and kissed him, tasting some of my own fluids on his lips. 

The couch was behind me, so I eased myself down on it and pulled him into my lap. "You wanted to fuck me," I said, noticing as sanity returned to his eyes, watching as it was driven away again at my words.

"Maybe later," he mumbled, stripping off his pants and straddling me like he had earlier. "I think this would be much better for now." He held my cock in one hand and positioned himself so I could feel myself pressing against his entrance.

"Obi-Wan--" I gasped.

"It's okay," he said, sighing as I felt myself pushing against the ring. "This isn't...." he swallowed and visibly forced himself to relax, "...new!" he gasped as I breached the barrier and drove into him.

I felt a flare of unreasoned jealousy at his words and quickly released it into the Force, my body interested in other, more important things. He was right, I was wet enough, and he was relaxed enough, and oh, Force, I didn't think anything could feel better than this.

Complex reasoning failed, and all I could do was thrust, my arms wrapped around him, taking his weight as much as I could, bracing us both as we lunged and shook and rubbed against each other, matching each other passion for passion, seeking a mutual oblivion.

I don't think I was ever more aware of him than I was at that moment, our bodies intertwined with each other's, my attention locked on Obi-Wan and his on me. For a single instant, it was as if we shared a single mind, a single set of thoughts. And instead of oblivion, I became intimately aware of who I was, not only as myself, but as someone important to Obi-Wan. 

That connection was a priceless gift, even though it only lasted a moment.

I think I fell first, the shudders reverberating in me as I spilled into Obi-Wan, but I had not yet completely reconnected with my body before I felt him splash across my chest, his small cry of delight like an electric charge across me. Fumbling, I pulled him near so I could wrap my arms around him and hold him as he shook, trying to keep some measure of closeness between us.

We'd spent years in each other's company, working through a hundred crises, and selfishly, I didn't want to let go. I stroked his hair as he leaned against me, sweaty and sticky from our exertions. I could feel his heart pounding through his chest, felt the tickle of his breath against my neck.

I could not freeze this moment; I could not keep him. As a Jedi, it was my responsibility to let go. I released my grip, giving both of us a little room, chilling where the air spilled between our damp skins. I looked at him, felt the sweat running down my face and plastering my hair across my brow; Obi-Wan's braid was frayed and falling apart. It felt awkward to be human again, to be separate and within my own body. It had all happened so quickly. I had no words to fill the silence between us. "Well...."

"Yes," he said, panting slightly, "well."

He was as lost for words as I was. Our gaze locked. He smiled, and I mirrored it, then he laughed and collapsed across my chest, moving such that I felt myself slide out from within him. "So, what happens now?" he asked softly, not looking at me, his fingers gently stroking my arm as if something we shared would shatter if we moved too fast or too hard. "I never thought about--"

"What would happen next?" I answered, stroking his hair. "Neither did I." I could feel my eyes crinkle as I smiled at the irony. "I lived in the moment."

"Is it that much of a problem?" 

"Perhaps."

He snuggled in closer to me. "What is the proper procedure for something like this? Must we report it to the Council?" He kissed the hollow at the base of my neck, licking away the salt. "I'm assuming that something like this has happened at least once in the history of the order."

I thought back a moment, sifting through my own experiences and what I knew of the written history of the Jedi -- and the unwritten history, which was a hobby of mine. "It has, many times."

"So there's nothing to worry about."

"Not officially, no. There is nothing that forbids a Master from lying with his Padawan."

"What about a Padawan with his Master?"

"I don't think they ever considered that possibility. It would be the Master's duty to resist." I shifted him so his weight wasn't pressing so hard against my chest, making it easier to breathe. "In the beginning, such relationships were encouraged, as a way of releasing tension. During the war with the Sith, however, such pairings were discouraged, and Masters and Padawans separated for fear that the emotional connection would lead them to the dark side."

"Will we be separated?"

I kissed his ear. "I don't believe so. The end of the Sith wars wrought many changes in the order. Today we are more concerned with possible abuse." I leaned my head on his shoulder so I could whisper in his ear, delighting in the shiver it produced. "Have you been abused?"

"Not as much as I would like." I could feel the smile as he said it, and he arched his neck so I could kiss it.

I shook my head. "You will be the death of me, you know." Nevertheless, I kissed him, enjoying the feel of his skin as I nipped gently at it.

"You just need more practice." The humor in his voice melted, and the brash young man I'd been holding seemed to fold in on himself. He turned away, not looking at me, and I wondered what he was thinking. "Would you...spend the night with me?" he whispered.

The question obviously meant more to him than I'd assumed; he was not talking about friendship or companionship any longer. I answered as serenely as I could, given that I wanted to shout with joy. "I would be honored."

Obi-Wan looked at me then, his eyes filled with the need for reassurance, his words tumbling out of his mouth in haste. "I am still your Padawan."

"Always." I said, stroking my hand across his cheek, reconnecting us. "You will always be mine."

I kissed him then, and we each rolled off the couch and picked up our clothes, moving in harmony together. I stopped to rinse the teapot and put it away, while Obi-Wan put away the clean cups and the tea. Working together felt so right, I had to stop and experience the moment, so good, so sweet. I could feel the magic around us again, and this time, I could feel the threads of Force running through it.

It felt like poetry.


	6. Preferred Vintage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan returns from his first solo mission.

He strode the halls of the temple, feet whisper-quiet against the hard stone, senses searching hungrily for his prey, greedily scanning every face, every body he passed. His constant awareness of the others pressed into him, and none of them right, damn it! All the wrong form, the wrong shape, the wrong kind. He felt a few of them pull away, sudden stark terror breaching their young Jedi calm, and realized he was projecting; he forced himself to stop.

Calm and cool, like a glacier-fed lake, Obi-Wan controlled his emotions. He wanted no master to come for him, no healer to take him aside and question his presence. He wanted -- needed -- to find his own.

To find Qui-Gon.

To set it right.

His pack lay heavy against his back, a constant weight during the last few weeks of independent living, battered and torn from the woods and foothills of Rivute where he'd been searching for a child who was strong in the Force. The birth had been felt, but then the child vanished, cut off from the others as if someone had shut a gate, leaving the child penned in.

It was the perfect task for an older padawan, someone who could be trusted to work independently, and not requiring the skill of an older master or full-fledged knight. Obi-Wan had been proud to serve, but the task had taken far longer than he'd expected.

Like the prince in fairy tales, he'd searched far and wide across the land, finally finding what he sought in a mining camp where the rock itself shielded the workers from the strength of the force. Obi-Wan had paid full bride-price for the girl, who was not yet six months old, then spirited her away and back to his ship, delivering her to the creche this morning.

And now Obi-Wan wanted to be home.

Alternating bars of multi-colored light and faint bits of darkness passed over him as he walked, the temple windows prisming simple sunlight into an orgy of color. Quickly, he passed from the main halls into the living quarters of the Jedi, the colors and tones muting, the windows no longer needed for display. His footfalls were quiet, accustomed as he was to silence from his recent time in the woods, and he sank into shadows as others passed, his mind finally signaling to him that the other was close.

He quickly palmed open the door to his room, tossed his pack on the floor and his cloak on top of it, turned, and left, not even registering where they had landed. It was unimportant for now; that room was not home any more, if it ever really had been.

Home now meant...this. The door to Qui-Gon's room yawned open, and he slid inside, catching his master in the middle of dressing.

Pants slung low on hips, fastenings not yet finished, chest gleaming from a few fresh-caught water droplets clinging to scattered bits of hair and flesh, nipples taut from exposure to cold air -- his Master stood there, silent, startled, and measuring, muscles tensed for fight or flight.

Obi-Wan gave him no time to make that decision.

He removed his wide belt and tossed it aside as the door sealed shut behind him, the brief puff of air sealing them both in a Force-shielded cage. His eyes fused with Qui-Gon's as he stripped the outer shirt from his back, leaving the undershirt lying open, his chest exposed, and watched Qui-Gon's eyes darken with desire.

The scent of a mild incense lingered in the room; Qui-Gon must have been meditating before his shower. A few whispered words and the few windows changed from clear to translucent, the artificial twilight a welcome rest from the brilliance of the day. Wrapped in the darkness, Obi-Wan watched his master, waiting for his acknowledgement, his agreement to let go.

He could see how Qui-Gon struggled, his emotions flickering through his face and his force, sifted, sorted, and arranged into order -- or what passed for order in his Master's too-chaotic mind. He smiled slightly as he felt Qui-Gon's certainty solidify, almost feeling his arousal in the pulse of the air he breathed; yet he waited patiently, knowingly, for the hesitant, acquiescent nod.

No words, no sounds, no mental touch, just the harsh knowledge that it had been too long, desire lending speed as he crossed the room, eradicating the distance between them. Fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him in close; there was flesh under his own fingers, hard and solid now, where there had been only dreams. His hand slid up to cup Qui-Gon's neck and pull him down just as his own head was tilted up, their lips meeting and fusing with the incandescent joy of welcome...a fact that some part of him registered as clearly wrong, while another part registered it as clearly right.

_Balance in all things, young Padawan._

Qui-Gon's voice, spoken now, spoken then, the words a seam in their lives together. Balance, yes, my master, Obi-Wan thought, his eyes burning as he feasted his hands and mouth on warm, damp skin. Sometimes the tree must bend.

He pushed a little, and Qui-Gon folded, turning and bending, muscles flexing so that Obi-Wan could tear the clothing from the rest of his body, leaving him naked and panting on the crisp linen sheets. Three movements -- spreading his master's thighs wide, his mouth ducking in to drink from the fold between thigh and ass, scratching the flesh, marking his possession -- and Obi-Wan pulled off his own boots and pants, his body hard and needy, demanding satisfaction.

The cool air chilled him, a sharp contrast to the heat of Qui-Gon's body, as Obi-Wan pressed down on him, grinding their cocks together, his open shirt covering them both.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and groaned, the sound sending twin vines of satisfaction and want curling around his spine. Vaguely, he was aware of the sheets scratching at him as he leaned against the bed, the industrial feel of them softened only slightly by the homemade quilts his master preferred, bits of handiwork and color in a utilitarian setting.

The shirt he wore was far softer than anything the temple would provide, and the swing of it as he moved, kissing and licking his way down Qui-Gon's body, was all the more tantalizing for the contrast it gave. Qui-Gon groaned again, pushing himself up against Obi-Wan's mouth, his desire charging the air around them. This was the glory of it all to Obi-Wan's mind, his calm, cool, Jedi master writhing willingly beneath him, desperation tingeing his mind and soul. He thrust down, knowing the lush body was his for the taking, the joy of it all cascading out of him in a deep throaty laugh.

He bit sharply, enjoying the small gasp it brought, then soothed the spot with his tongue, reveling in the feel of Qui-Gon's hands as they, too, mapped his body. This is what some of his friends didn't understand, one thing he loved about an older lover who was so much more...responsive...than his age-mates. Nothing to break in, nothing to worry about, nothing to be frightened of -- long, smooth strokes and quick, sudden flashes, everything shimmering with indulgent desire.

The oil wasn't far, and he coated himself with it, his gaze locked with Qui-Gon's. "I want you," he said tightly, his hand clenched around his cock, fisting it repeatedly, slickening himself for his lover's pleasure

"Yes..." Qui-Gon groaned, rolling onto his side, canting his hips for easier access. He looked back over his shoulder, his hair cascading down his face, his attitude wanton, not submissive, the fire in his eyes igniting a fire within Obi-Wan's groin.

Now **he** was the one groaning.

He knelt behind Qui-Gon, one of Qui-Gon's long legs between his thighs, the other angled to give him better access. No preliminaries, no worries, just the sharp-solid thrust of his cock into Qui-Gon, deep into the liquid fire welcoming the invasion. He pulled the angled leg up a bit, let it curl around the arm bracing him against the bed, let it beg for him to push himself deeper inside. The heat, the feel of skin and muscle, hair and sweat and salt, simmered around him, adding fuel to the need deep within him. The delicate brush of his shirt only heightened the sensation.

He dropped Qui-Gon's leg and pressed his thigh, guiding him onto his stomach, moving with him and shifting in deeper as he turned, unwilling to separate them even for an instant. He pulled Qui-Gon's ass up and cupped himself over and around the strong back, reveling in the feel of the body under his hands. He licked the drops of water that clung there, felt the saltiness of sweat and soap beneath his tongue, heard the hard groans and gasps of his lover as he shifted to accommodate Obi-Wan's girth. He slid his hands down and around Qui-Gon's sides, seeking out the thick shaft jutting out between his master's thighs.

Obi-wan smiled as he clasped it, briefly nipping at Qui-Gon's back as his lover thrust into his hand. Even though he couldn't see it, Obi-Wan knew what it looked like: hard, red and weeping, the head exposed and wanting, sensitive to the slightest touch -- as the escalation in Qui-Gon's breathing proved the moment Obi-Wan's hand wrapped around it.

Moaning softly, he moved his hands over the shaft, a counter-point to the deep, luxurious thrusts that encased him in Qui-Gon's flesh. Enveloped, impaled, a circle of passion and desire, Obi-Wan fed himself into Qui-Gon's need as Qui-Gon fed into his. The luxury slowly disintegrated into hard, powerful pounding, each of them gripping and clutching at the flesh and fabric that came closest to hand. Scratches from untrimmed nails became pinpoints of pleasure, giving momentary clarity in the slick, sweat-filled haze that surrounded him, letting him catch a gasp, a sigh, a groan, or soft, demanding words begging for release.

"yes...more...harder...need you...in me....Oh, force...yes...now."

Qui-Gon levered himself up, shoving himself back onto Obi-Wan's cock, his voice loud and demanding, meeting each lunge with a push of his own. Obi-Wan thrust as best he could, his leverage gone now as Qui-Gon rode out his pleasure, setting the pace for them both. Obi-Wan spread one arm behind him to brace himself, his body a tripod that his master used ruthlessly, making Obi-Wan drunk with the power and pleasure of it. He slid his hand up and down Qui-Gon's cock, fitting the rhythm to the one that his master initiated, something hard and fast and driving, wiping away reserves in the safety of their enclosed universe.

Qui-Gon gave one last shove, stilling as he impaled himself fully, his body trembling and shaking as his seed spilled out onto Obi-Wan's hand, the power of his release demanding Obi-Wan's own.

Obi-Wan pulled the larger man tight to him, pressing in and upward, seeking his own completion; a few more thrusts and the wave coursed through him and out, leaving his body shaking with tiny earthquakes of its own.

They tumbled into the bed together, side by side, passion momentarily at rest, letting hands and lips memorize each other again. Obi-Wan pulled off his shirt at last, tossing it across the room, then lay his head on his Master's chest, listening as the pounding heartbeat slowed to a more moderate pace. He'd missed the sound, the feeling of it part of what meant home to him anymore, like an infant and its mother's heartbeat.

Only...it wasn't quite like that. He smiled to himself and nipped at Qui-Gon's neck, who returned the favor by swatting him on the ass.

A laugh, a squeeze, and then they were back to normal again. "A good trip, my young padawan?" He could hear the smile in Qui-Gon's voice, even though he couldn't see it.

He laid his head back against Qui-Gon's chest. "It would have been better with you, my master."

He felt his master nuzzling his hair and heard the deep breath and soft sigh. "I missed you, too."

 


End file.
